


These Lines We Cross

by o0kaymawn0o



Category: Bleach
Genre: Angst, Gore, M/M, Romance, Seme Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, Swearing, Uke Kurosaki Ichigo, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-03-17 11:48:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13658370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0kaymawn0o/pseuds/o0kaymawn0o
Summary: As Grimmjow sits beside the bed of a comatose Ichigo, we learn how we got to where they are now, with Ichigo sporting a bullet-sized hole in his chest, and Grimmjow holding onto his unresponsive hand, waiting for the moment they squeeze back.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So, it's been a while since I wrote a GrimmIchi. Please bear with me as I try and gain my sea legs again. Haha. I don't really have much to say other than I hope you enjoy the story. Feedback is appreciated, not required.

_Prologue_

Nothing in life can prepare someone for that moment where they are to stand over a hospital bed and watch machines pump air into their loved one's lungs, keeping death at bay. To be there in the room with them, powerless to do anything to help, is more painful than they could have ever imagined. All they want to do is something,  _anything_ , to give them comfort, to ease the ache, if only just for one moment. They can't. There's nothing they can do but watch their chest rise and fall, shallowly, manually, not by its own fruition. The sight is nothing but terrifying, chilling them to the core as they pick through the denim on their jeans, searching for words to produce, per the Doctors advice that a coma patient is still aware, in some way, of people's voices in the room.

What is there to say, though? What can you say to someone that you believe is the least deserving of this fate? Sure, you could declare that you'd rather it be you. Where does that get you? Nowhere. You're stuck in between a rock and a hard place, reaching out for a hand to grab on to that never presents itself. It's just you, and you are alone.

You're all alone because they're not conscious to tell you that you're not.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez is the man in this situation, unable to do anything to help one of the only people that he actually gives a shit about in this rotten world. At this current moment, Grimmjow struggles to tear his eyes away from the heart monitor, scared to miss any signs that he might need to call for help because fuck if he knows what to do in a situation like that. The nurses said that they would be right outside if he needed them, which he's half surprised he took in, considering the only viable thought at the time that has been on a consistent loop since the start of all this has been  _please be okay._

In his entire existence, he's never been lost for words quite like this. He wants to force his tongue to cooperative with him and string together  _anything,_ but the tightness in his throat is preventing him from getting out something other than a sound similar to  _The Grudge._

At this point, if a genie made an entrance, Grimmjow's not sure he'd even be capable of wishing for the event that caused this never happened in the first place. He'd internalise it a thousand times over–getting it out in the open would be a triumph for the History books.

When the absence of air in his lungs reminds him to take a breath, Grimmjow finds himself lowering down onto a conveniently placed chair facing the direction of his unconscious lover. Those molten brown eyes that should never be permitted to deny the world their beauty remain sealed off, not even twitching beneath sun-kissed eyelids, as they would so often do when their owner experienced troubling dreams, or for those times that he just needed a minute before chewing Grimmjow out.

Grimmjow can't help but smile at those times now, recalling how he had to remain on his best behaviour, as to not stir the pot any more than he already had at that point. Truthfully, he didn't always fully understand why his lover was furious at him. However, he knew that if he wanted to move past it quickly, he would have to pretend that he was sorry for whatever it was he may have or may not have done, which worked most of the time, when his focus had been keen, and not thinking of other things that they could have been doing at that moment in time.

Pushing out a breath, he stills himself in his seat, flexing his fingers before reaching his hand out for the one resting to the side of his lover's unconscious form. A part of him hopes that even in this state, the man can still feel his touch, and know that he is here with him in this moment and that he's not going anywhere, come rain or shine.

The skin beneath his touch is warm, a contrast to the coldness he feels internally. The optimist inside buried deep under the weight of silent agony pierces through the veil to remind him that that could be a good sign–that he should hold on to that feeling. Grimmjow wants to believe it, more than he needs legs to stand on. Seeing is the real truth, though. That truth sits heavily on his chest, and even more so on his lover's.

Or  _in_ , he should say.

Throughout the proceedings, Grimmjow hasn't been able to get up the guts to even glance at the bullet-sized hole marring his lover's chest. The Doctor proclaimed that the bullet pierced just shy of the heart. He went on to disclose that the shrapnel from the said bullet lodged itself into several parts of the vital organ as it passed the chest plate. To finish, the Doctor also included that Grimmjow's lover is lucky to still be alive.

_"_ _He's a stubborn one. This isn't enough to take him down, so don't look so shocked, Doc."_

Those words were said with such an air of conviction that Grimmjow almost believed them himself. Still, he's not stupid. He's seen this sort of wound before. He's watched friends die from wounds like this before. Who's to say that this time is going to be any different, just because his orange haired lover has a stubborn streak a thousand miles long?

Grimmjow squeezes the unresponsive hand in his possession, clenching his free hand at his side to stave off the desire to punch something solid. It's such a simple action, to have someone respond to his touch, yet he feels as though his soul left his body at just not feeling it returned from the one person he longs to have it from. His head lowers of its own accord until the styled blue tendrils of his hair splay over the skin of his lover's exposed arm. If he were awake to feel it, Grimmjow knows that it would tickle him, and he would make that adorable face that never fails to make his damn heart skip a beat. He would really appreciate that right about now. Even those scowls that he gets when he knows that he's up a creek without a paddle.

"Ichi. . . Please don't die on me, okay? I'll kill you if you do, got it?" Grimmjow declares, struggling to get the words out.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you liked the prologue and moved to the next chapter, welcome, and I hope you enjoy it. :)
> 
> -Kieran

_Five years ago. . ._

It was anything  _but_ love at first sight. Their first meeting would actually lead to an array of choice words, and one of them walking away with a bloody nose hidden under the convenient black of their shirt. We're not quite there yet, so that situation will have to be put on hold for now.

Their story begins with one Ichigo Kurosaki, ready to begin putting his degree to use after having spent the last year gaining experience to better prepare himself for the tough road ahead. He knew from the word go that this line of work was not going to be easy. Nevertheless, it's been something that he's been rather passionate about from a young age, as ironic as that may be, considering his line of work will include helping fully grown adults restart their education, and start working towards actually making a career for themselves. Ichigo understands that a lot of these men and women lacked the drive during their schooling years, and therefore decided that picking up odd jobs and earning money had been a more rewarding venture for them at the time. Ichigo wants to encourage them to realise their own potential, and see that schooling really isn't all that bad. Granted, it can be boring at times, but it's more than worth it in the end when you achieve something that you, yourself, hadn't even realised that you were longing for.

As soon as he deemed himself fit to really start making a difference, the orange haired man utilised the skills of one of his friends, Toshiro Hisugaya, and within a week, he had a website up and running for his private tutoring business. Toshiro had done wonders with the template, and Ichigo had been extremely pleased with the results, internally thrilled that the short man had owed him a favour that he had finally cashed in on. On top of that, a few others assisted him in the grunt work of making the rounds around town to request permission to put up fliers detailing his business venture, which he had been more than appreciative of, taking them on a night out–all expenses paid–, and if their hangovers were anything to go by the next morning, it must have been good.

Not that he remembers any of it, which is probably for the best.

Everything leading up to this moment will all be worth it if he can at least make a difference in one of his client's lives. Speaking of which, last week he received his first email from a twenty-six-year-old woman requesting his tutelage. Despite one Renji Abari teasing him that she might just be looking for sex, Ichigo replied back in earnest agreeing to help her, and they set up a consultation for the following week. Ichigo had told the woman that the initial meeting would be to work out exactly what it is that she aspires to do, how much time she has throughout the week to work on said goal, and any and all limitations that Ichigo might need to know about in order to make this as comfortable for her as possible.

And, yes, Renji also had something to say about _that_. More than something, actually. Ichigo gifted the man with a sharp jab to his side, and he soon scampered off, moaning about how he was overreacting, and blah blah blah.

Now, Ichigo finds himself standing outside a rather. . .  _generous_ house, that he could never hope to afford on the money that he's going to make off a job like this. Unless he starts getting requests from the rich and famous, that is. Still, Ichigo made his peace with that when he first decided that this is what he wanted to do in life, so he has no regrets.

Sucking in a breath to still his nerves, Ichigo presses the buzzer situated below a speaking device on a protruding piece of wall next to the stark white gates barring his entrance to the house. When ten seconds pass without an answer, Ichigo repeats himself, slightly worried that this has all been a hoax, and he's about a minute from being met with vicious guard dogs that may or may not succeed in provoking him to make a mess of his new jeans. God, he hopes not.

That would be all too embarrassing.

The thought is shoved aside for him when a soft voice speaks through the receiver, letting him know that she'll open the gates for him, and that she's sorry that the house itself isn't closer. Ichigo assures her that he doesn't mind the walk, taking a step back to appraise the gates granting him access to the beautiful walkway before he begins the long trek up to the front doors. As he walks at a leisurely pace, he admires the foliage–hedges lined up one by one, scattered with an assortment of flowers, tinted with a collection of pink shades that really give it a nice contrast to the green surrounding them. The path is wide enough that a car can fit through it, giving Ichigo the impression that he's more than likely going to be greeted with a few nice models when he reaches the garage portion of this wonderland he finds himself in.

If he's being rather frank here, this woman has done very well for herself, considering her lack of education. A small voice in his head nags at him that it's perhaps possible that Renji may have been right about this, even if he had just been facetious–Ichigo chastises himself. It's not right to judge someone when he knows nothing about them, so he's not going to. For all he knows, her parents may have been wealthy and passed this property down to her or something like that. Yeah, there's no need to assume that he's going to be greeted by some lady in scantily clad clothing, holding some version of a cocktail and just waiting to seduce him or whatever.

That's what happens in films, not reality, he tells himself quite vehemently as he passes the final curve of this monstrously long walkway, drowning out the sound of his heightened heart rate to focus on the purity of the passing wind instead.

Before he has a chance to knock, symmetrical smokey grey double doors start to turn inward, and a stunningly beautiful lady peaks her head through the door, looking all too shy for someone with her attributes. She scans him from head to toe slyly, clearly making sure that he resembles the man displayed on the website. Ichigo is positive that it's not often you'll meet  _anyone_  with the same shade of orange that takes up residence on top of his head, and he's non-plussed when she quickly finishes with her analysis of his features, nodding unconsciously to herself.

"You must be Mr. Kurosaki," the lady clarifies, opening the door that little bit more. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Please, call me Nel."

Ichigo extends a hand rather awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck out of habit with the other. "The pleasure is mine," he declares, a red tint gracing his already sun-kissed features. "And, please, call me Ichigo."

Nel smiles as though she prefers that idea, taking the offered hand and giving it an enthusiastic shake. She steps back in way of allowing him access to the house, which he accepts with a nod of thanks, giving the entryway a once over. He immediately spots a pair of shoes that wouldn't fit Nel's feet in this lifetime, which tells him that she doesn't live alone. Not that he has any plans to ask her about her personal life. As long as it doesn't impact her schooling, none of that will ever be any of his business.

"Would you like a drink before we get started?" Nel inquires, leading him into an intricately designed living room, accented with framed artwork, all inhabiting the same dark themes. Nel must notice him staring because she laughs nervously. "Sorry, my Brother painted those. I know they look a little disturbing, but it's his work, and I love it," she says unapologetically, offering Ichigo a seat on the platinum grey corner sofa, which he accepts gratefully, prying his eyes away from the highly captivating works of art to pull the strap of his laptop bag over his head, and set it down on the glass coffee table centering the room.

"You have a very beautiful house, Nel. It's, uh, incredible," Ichigo compliments her, unzipping the  _out-of-its-depth-in-a-place-like-this-bag_ , to take out his equally outshined laptop and place it atop the accompanying case.

"Thank you. I just make it look pretty. My brother keeps it on the ground," she replies with a giggle, shifting to make herself more comfortable. "That's actually what I would like to do–Um, interior design, I mean."

Ichigo smiles at that. "I'm glad that you already have something in mind. That's going to make this part a lot easier on me," he jokes nervously, allowing himself to sink into the memory foam of the sofa. "And, from what I'm seeing right now, I don't think that's going to be hard for you at all," he adds, flipping the lid open to bring up his  _Notepad_ application.

Nel flicks her hair out of her face, smiling.

"Thanks. You're not the first to compliment me, but I don't think I can just take pictures of my house, send them in, and suddenly I'm an interior designer, you know?"

Ichigo nods.

"You're right about that, but it's not going to hurt you, either," he assures her, making a note of what's already been said before turning his head to offer her his full attention. "As I said to you in the email, this is just to work out how much time you have, and what you might need to make this easier for you."

"That makes sense. I'm pretty much free always. My Brother is the one that works and puts money in to the house, and I, um. . ." Nel pauses, her head lowering, shoulders slumped in defeat. "I don't really have any friends."

Ichigo closes his eyes empathetically, wondering how a lovely lady like Nel could really be so alone in this world. Again, it's not his place to judge or ask questions that would clearly isolate her, so he chooses not to pry. It's also important that he remains professional here. . . Still, she's clearly someone who wears their heart on their sleeve, and Ichigo can't help but resonate with that.

"Well, I can't make any promises, but for now, we can be friends," he says simply, cursing himself out inwardly for sounding like such a nerd. "I mean, we're going to be seeing each other a lot for the near future–if you choose to accept my services, of course–

Out of nowhere, the young lady pounces across the sofa and snares him in a bone-crushing hug, breasts almost the size of bowling balls attempting to cut off any and all oxygen that he could wish to secure. She starts thanking him over and over again, expressing that she'll be the best friend that he's ever had, that she'll do her very best to make him proud–that he won't regret this at all, even if he kind of is now as he struggles to hold on to a life that might end all too soon if she doesn't give him room to breathe.

When his shoulders begin to deflate, Nel maneuvers him to arm's length, an expression of avid worry on her face and endless apologies in her eyes.

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry, Ichigo. Are you okay? I'm such an idiot–I just got a little excited, please speak to me!" Nel exclaims, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll.

"Ne-Nel, I-I'm fi-fine," Ichigo manages to clip out, feeling nauseated as the room switches from one side to the other in a staggering motion.

"Oh, good," Nel proclaims, genuinely pleased with that as she stops her vigorous shaking, still holding him in place. "I'll try not to do that in the future–I'm, um, not really used to giving hugs and stuff."

Ichigo shakes his head slightly to clear the haze surrounding his eyes, offering a warm smile. "It's okay. Just, try not to kill me next time, okay?" he requests, laughing despite himself.

Nel returns the smile in earnest. "It's a deal."

With that aside, Ichigo and Nel spend the next hour working out dates that they can get together to work on this. Ichigo apologises that he doesn't actually have any experience in interior design himself, and therefore probably won't be the best reference moving forward into that type of career. He can, however, help her with her other subjects that are going to look good on her resume, which she's going to need to even get her foot in the door. Nel discloses to him that the reason for her lack of education is due to the non-existent funds when she and her brother were growing up, having lost their parents in an act of gun violence when they were very young. She went on to explain that her Brother looked after the both of them the best that he could, considering their circumstances, taking any and all employment opportunities that he could to keep them fed and watered, eventually making his mark on the world as a successful artist/art dealer.

A look of unabashed pride frames her face as she talks about her Brother finishing his first art piece, how he hadn't been sure about it from the beginning, and how Nel had encouraged him to sell it. She admitted that it had been  _disturbing,_ but there had also been something so unique and enriching about it that she felt the rest of the world deserved to know of its existence. When she takes a breath, her hand extends to wave in the general direction of the painting she's referring to, admitting that when her Brother started making a name for himself, she asked him if they could have his first painting hung up in their house as a memento, and he agreed.

"Your Brother is very talented," Ichigo admits, wondering just what could have inspired such a chilling display of brush strokes. "Art class in school was one of my worst subjects, so I can't help but be envious."

"If we're being honest here, it's the one thing that he's  _actually_  modest about," Nel says, a fond smile curving her thin lips, clearly lost in a memory. "He's good looking and he knows it, he's smart, funny, strong–he'll boast about all of that, but when it comes to his art, he seems unsure of himself. It's adorable, really."

Ichigo deduces that Nel and her Brother must be very close, what with the past that they've had and what they endured together, it's perfectly understandable. There's not a thing that Ichigo wouldn't do for his little sisters, so he can relate. Although they've never been without money, he was encouraged to start gaining his independence as soon as he had been old enough to work for a living by his overly dramatic Father, who he supposes he should thank, despite the man's odd ways of doing so.

Nel suddenly slaps a hand to her forehead, shaking her head shamefully.

"I'm so sorry, Ichigo–I offered you a drink earlier, and didn't even make you one," she reprimands herself, rising to her feet to start heading off in the assumed direction of the kitchen. Ichigo notices for the first time that she's wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt. She's really not like anyone he would expect to be in a house like this. "What would you like? There's a lot of choices, so anything you want, we probably have."

Ichigo bites back a grin at her  _does-that-make-me-sound-like-a-snob_ look, saving the page on his screen with their detailed plan. "Just some juice, please."

Tipping her head forward in affirmation, Nel ducks around the corner to complete her task, leaving Ichigo temporarily alone in a room he doesn't at all belong in. He clears his throat, leaning his head back against the sofa since he can afford to relax for a minute. The temptation to appraise the artwork again is far stronger than he wishes for it to be, but he silences it. He would hate for Nel to think he would admire it for any other reason than because he genuinely finds it fascinating. Earlier, he got the sense that she's very protective of her Brother, and Ichigo doesn't plan on stepping on any toes, not since his near death experience by the will of Nel's breasts.

Regardless of that, Ichigo is very much looking forward to getting started. He has no doubt that Nel is going to be a breath of fresh air to teach, and her willingness to learn is apparent from head to toe, so he has no anxieties where that is concerned. He's very fortunate his first client is as malleable as Nel is, actually. He thought the first few were going to be really difficult to connect with, and get them seeing what they can do with their life if they just try. Sure, it's possible that they might have some ups and downs along the way–still, he's confident that Nel will be his first success story, and most of that will be due to her own determination and grit.

Now that he mulls it over in his head, Ichigo wonders why Nel even wants to do this, when there's clearly no need to. Maybe she's just looking to be more independent? Relying on someone else can eat away at your own perception of yourself, so Ichigo supposes it makes sense that she would look for a way to be able to support herself, even if everything is quite adamantly covered on that front. He finds it admirable, actually. Not many in her position would choose to work if they didn't have to. Renji would jump at a chance to quit his job performing M.O.Ts, even if he does have a passion for cars. Rukia would certainly stop being a reporter, as she would have more time to hang out with her friends and make some good memories. Ichigo really feels for her when she tells him she's flying out to some nondescript location to do a three-minute take on the current happenings that are deemed news-worthy, silently blessed when she messages him that she's on her way home. His group of friends can't help but worry about her when she travels from place to place, especially the ones that are known for their high death count.

Shuddering at the thought of it, Ichigo rights himself on the sofa, rubbing the small amount of lethargy from his eyes, reminding himself that he's here for a reason, and that he needs to be on full alert to ensure the complete satisfaction of his client. That voice from earlier that sounds suspiciously like a  _certain_  redhead he knows all too well flits back into his subconscious for a second, but he ignores it. He knows what he meant, and even if he happened to be in that line of work, she wouldn't meet the  _requirements_ of his client list.

Just as he's about to start contemplating what he's going to cook for dinner tonight, Nel appears at the door, holding a tall glass of juice, chilled by the cubes of ice performing a rhythmic dance in the orange-tinted water.

"I wasn't sure what juice you wanted, so I went with, well–you can probably tell," Nel says, placing the glass down on a coaster atop the coffee table.

Ichigo nods his thanks. "That's fine, thank you very much," he assures her, taking a sip quickly before settling back in on the sofa. "I guess the only thing we have left to go over now is where you'd like to do this. I'm sure that your Brother likes his privacy, and I'd hate to be a burden–"

"Ichigo, have you seen the size of this house?" Nel cuts him off, chortling to herself. "My Brother has all the privacy that he needs. But, if you'd rather we meet somewhere more public, I'm okay with that."

"I don't know why, but I kind of feel like I have to ask his permission," Ichigo admits, hating the blush that taints his cheeks. "It's his house, after all, and to my understanding, his money."

Nel slaps his arm playfully. Well, she thinks it's playfully, but it actually has Ichigo forcing himself not to rub it to soothe the pain.

"My Brother doesn't know about this, that's true, but I didn't want to say anything until there was actually something to say, you know?"

Ichigo nods his understanding. "I get that," he adds for clarity.

"Also, um," Nel begins, seeming unsure of herself. "Once we're done with the lesson, maybe we could, um. . . Hang out?"

It's asked with so much hope that Ichigo's heart nearly breaks for her. He has the sinking suspicion that he's going to find it incredibly difficult to deny this lady much when she makes a face like that which she's making now.

"Sure, we can do that."

Nel squeals and leans in to give him what he assumes to be another air-constricting hug, and is pleasantly surprised by how stripped back it is. Nel muffles into his shoulder that she's a fast learner, expressing her deepest gratitude, once again provoking him to ponder as to how she could possibly have no friends.

When a door opens in the background, they both move away from each other, as if they were about to be caught doing something scandalous. Nel jumps off the sofa and runs toward the sound, looking to all the world like Christmas just came early. Ichigo finds himself smiling fondly at that, casting his eyes over to the oncoming spectacle as a man who could quite easily have been designed in the image of Greek Gods themselves shrugs out of a perfectly fitted suit jacket, allowing Nel to take it from him as he kicks his shoes off and makes to continue further in when his eyes land on Ichigo's.

There's a stillness between them as they silently appraise each other. Ichigo can't seem to find the words to speak, due to the man before his eyes being so otherworldly attractive that any fantasy/or sexual partner he's ever had up until now pale in comparison to him, and he's  _fully_ clothed.

Willing his body to remain discreet, Ichigo attempts to smoothly cut off his admirations, instead focusing on drinking some more of his ice cold drink–at this point, he feels like he needs it in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It's surreal writing something you haven't written for five years. I just hope it didn't suck. Thanks for reading.
> 
> -Kieran


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading so far. I hope you continue to enjoy it. :)
> 
> \--Kieran

 

“So, Grimmjow, this is Ichigo. He’s going to be tutoring me, isn’t that great?” Nel informs the man, _Grimmjow,_ enthusiastically pulling him toward the clearly rather _thirsty_ man.

Ichigo tries not to seem rude as he concentrates on his drink. He’s not sure what effect this man may have on him up close. If there was anything that was going to ruin this near-perfect meeting, it’s this right here.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but I’ve been looking for a tutor to help me get the grades that I need to at least give me a chance at getting a job in the future–”

“You don’t need to work. I can buy you whatever you want,” Grimmjow interrupts, turning his back to Ichigo, who refuses to admire the almost gravitational allure of Grimmjow’s glutes, however, fails miserably, quietly berating himself for it.

No one should look that perfect back to front.

“I know I don’t need to, Grimmy. But I really want to be an interior designer, and this is the way that I can make that happen–”

“I get that you’re good at it and all, but you don’t need to get an education. I know people that would be fucking stupid to pass up a recommendation from me,” the blue-haired man replies bluntly, back muscles flexing beneath the grey waistcoat securing his upper body, provoking Ichigo to wish he could be temporarily asexual.

He’s really not sure that he can cope with this.

Nel stands her ground defiantly, pinning her Brother with a hard, determined stare. “This is something I need to do on my own, Grimmjow,” she argues, her demeanor sharp and serious, supporting her conviction. It must catch the man off guard, as his poise softens a mere moment before it’s once again controlled.

“I can’t stop you, Nel. I just don’t understand why you’re choosing to go the long route,” Grimmjow tells her, turning his head to level Ichigo with a meaningful glare. For all his efforts, the orange haired man loses the battle to look away, even as a full body shudder rocks him to his core. Within moments, Grimmjow has refocused his attention on Nel anyway, crossing his arms over his chest arrogantly. “And who the fuck is this guy, anyway? He looks half my age.”

Ichigo perks up at that, feeling the fog of _something_ fade from his system as a scowl takes over his features. This guy clearly could do with an attitude adjustment. Maybe he just doesn’t care that Ichigo is about seven feet away from him? A bristle dances up his spine angrily. For the sake of Nel, he’s not going to comment, but he sure as shit is going to chew the guy out in his head.

“Don’t be rude, Grimmy. This is Ichigo, and he’s my new best friend,” Nel informs him gleefully, moving around him to hook her arm through Ichigo’s slightly bent one.

Grimmjow snorts at the statement, rounding on them both. “Does _he_ know that?” he sneers, pointing unabashedly at the younger man’s frame, cobalt blue eyes focused on his Sister.

Resisting the urge to dislocate the accusatory digit, Ichigo instead decides to stay completely out of this one, reasoning with himself that Nel is quite possibly the only person in the whole world who can smoothe this whole thing out, and it’s in his best interest to leave this task to her.

“Yes, he agreed to it,” Nel answers him, her tone miffed. “And, please stop, you’re embarrassing me.”

Grimmjow moves to speak again, but thinks better of it, shoulders sagging as hands that appear as though they’ve pretty much seen it all work their way into deep pockets. If Ichigo had to guess, he would say that the man looked a tad guilty for what he said–only for Nel’s sake, though, and clearly not his own. The two siblings continue to compete in a silent staring match with one another, and Ichigo has the sinking suspicion that they’re somehow able to communicate non-verbally, which would certainly be something rather incredible if it were true. Of course, that would also bother him greatly, for he wouldn’t have the slightest clue what they could be saying about him without his knowledge, and he’s none too comfortable with that idea, as he’s already starting to get a bad impression from this guy.

If he’s going to be coming here for the foreseeable future to tutor Nel, having issues with her Brother is going to impact his work, whether he wants it to or not. So, when they’re done with whatever they’re doing, he’s hoping to avoid a confrontation, and just clear the air between them before it can be tainted.

After a long, awkward exchange of nothing between them, Ichigo is relieved when one of them finally says something. It’s Nel, turning to apologise to him for her Brother’s behaviour, which he lies about being fine with. It wouldn’t do him any good to state how pissed he had been by the blue-haired man’s remark earlier. He’s not worried about losing out on the money, as such. Over the course of this hour and a half, he’s really connected with Nel, and he wants nothing more than to be there for her when she succeeds–to guide her through it to the finish line, come Hell or high water, which means remaining civil is an absolute must.

“Why don’t I go start making dinner while you two get to know each other a little?” Nel offers, not even waiting for a response from both of them before she unlinks their arms and leaves the room, pausing momentarily to whisper something only her Brother could possibly hear.

With Nel gone, the two grown men eye each other wearily. Grimmjow flicks his stunningly blue eyes shamelessly over Ichigo’s form, and he can’t help but feel as though he’s under the microscope now–that Grimmjow making note of every little detail that he can find almost has him feeling violated in some way. His stare is so deep, so powerful, holding him in place effortlessly. The air in the room feels thick with the tension emanating from the demanding frame under his less obtrusive scrutiny. Ichigo fears that all of his skeletons are on display under the watchful eye of this man, so deep in his analysis that he fails to notice, or care, that the target of his avid observations is growing a deeper sense of discomfort with each tick of the longhand on his watch, piercing the silence with its monotonous intensity.

What feels like eons passes between them, when in reality, it’s been several seconds. Whether or not he notices that Ichigo is having difficulty maintaining his own breath, Grimmjow decides to break the silence between them and ask what exactly the orange-haired man’s intentions are here. He’s demanding evidence that this is a legit business, and he’s pushing for references that Ichigo knows that he has very little of, considering Nel would be his first client if he somehow manages to get out of this with his limbs still intact.

Drawing a calming breath in through his nose, Ichigo prepares himself to answer the best that he can. He hasn’t the slightest clue what he can say right now to put this all behind them from the word go, but he has an inkling that saying nothing would only inch him closer to burying himself alive.

“If you want the truth, Nel would be my first client if she chooses to accept me. I’m just starting out, but I have a degree if you need to see it to believe me,” he finally answers, ignoring the perspiration developing above his right eyebrow.

Grimmjow scoffs at that unapologetically, narrowing his eyes into slits. “If Nel _is_ serious about doing this on her own, I can find her someone who actually _knows_ what the fuck they’re doing,” he snaps cruelly, distaste in his tone as he runs his eyes over Ichigo’s form once again, not even trying to hide it.

Ichigo bristles at that, his body moving to stand without his permission, squaring up to the man. If he’s phased at all by the new development, Grimmjow makes no move to express it, remaining cold and firm as he waits to see what the younger man might do. There’s a hint of interest in his eyes as well, almost as if he’s eager for Ichigo to challenge him on this–to show his true colours when he’s being backed into a corner. Being tested isn’t something that he particularly enjoys, but wouldn’t it be a mistake to rise to something like that? Ichigo’s not sure of anything right now, as his body seems to be acting on impulse.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he almost growls, matching the animosity suffusing those antagonoistic sapphire portals. “And just because I’m new to this, doesn’t mean that I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You get that I’m going to be the one paying for this, right? Don’t you think it would be wise to not piss me off?” Grimmjow replies patronizingly, smirking.

A voice far, far away at this point tells Ichigo that he should stop right now–that he should even apologise, pride be damned, but he doesn’t have the will to listen to it right now. How dare this man–this man who doesn’t know the first thing about him just come right out and insult him like that, and then make it seem like he’s doing him a favour, meaning he has to knuckle under and kiss his ass while he’s at it? That he’s supposed to say thank you, hoping for a gold star on his behaviour report at the end of the session? No way. Ichigo doesn’t have to take this. He feels bad for Nel. This might ruin any chance of them ever working together toward this goal of hers, but something about her Brother is just rubbing him in all the wrong ways. His tongue won’t stay back behind his teeth no matter how much effort he’s putting into keeping it at bay.

“Look, Grimmjow, I’m not here for you. I’m here for your Sister. This is something that she wants, and I think it’s her right to choose. Yeah, it’s your money, and you can probably stop this before it gets off the ground, but I’m not so money hungry that I wouldn’t help someone that needs me. If she can’t pay me now, then she can pay me once she’s gotten to where she wants to go. An I.O.U, of sorts. But if that means coming here, to this house, where I might run into you, then I’m not sure that I can stomach it. You’re a rude son of a bitch, and honestly, I don’t have to take this shit from you.”

Grimmjow responds with a cooing sound.

“Kittens got claws. You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?”

Ichigo glares.

“That’s it? That’s your response?”

A half shrug is all he’s met with, one of those hands from earlier rising up to excavate some earwax. Grimmjow blows it off the tip of his finger in Ichigo’s general direction, looking suddenly bored.

“What are you looking for? A job well done? Good for you, you’re not so obsessed with money that you’d leave a poor man to starve on the streets. You want some kind of award for that?”

A tug of irritation morphs into something much stronger, Ichigo’s fists clenching at his sides. In his twenty-two years of living on this Earth, he’s never come across someone that can push his buttons quite like the arrogant bastard sizing him up right at this moment.

“What’s your problem? Do you have something against your sister getting an education? Would you feel like less of a _man_ if she started paying her own way?”

The punch comes before Ichigo has the time to even register it. It’s a clean hit. He hears more than feels the pressure of his blood starting to drip from his nostrils, hands instinctively bringing his shirt up to cover it. He’s eyeing his abuser with venom, not surprised to see the lack of guilt for what he just did, just lethargically keeping track of Ichigo with each move he makes, as if looking to see if he’ll have to swing for him again. The objects of the attack are back to being hidden inside those deep pockets. It’s as if the man isn’t concerned that Ichigo might react in the same way once he gets over the initial shock of what just happened between them.

“Fucking bastard,” Ichigo grits out from under his shirt, hurriedly collecting his things. Once he has everything gathered up, he hesitates when Grimmjow doesn’t even turn to let him past, hyper-focused eyes still trained on his every move. They’re almost feral. Ichigo doesn’t have time to analyze that, choosing instead to carefully sidestep the man, needing to get out of here so he can go and see his Father and have his nose reset.

Just as he’s about to open the door to leave, Nel pivots around him and puts her hands to his chest. She tells him to wait right here, that she’ll be right back and she’s so sorry for what happened. As soon as she leaves his side, Ichigo whispers a silent apology under his breath, leaving the house without saying anything more. He just can’t bear staying there for a second longer. He knows that he needs to leave, that he needs to get his nose sorted out. There’s no way he’s going to be able to do that if he’s lingering around, waiting for Nel to possibly placate her brother. Ichigo has confidence in her that she can do that, but he’s not willing anymore to stick around and see the results.

In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have said what he said. There’s just something about Grimmjow that irks him on levels that he can’t even put a word to. While it’s true that he’s not the best at controlling his temper, this is the first time that he’s gone from zero to sixty in the space of a few minutes. He’s normally more controlled than this. Back when he was a teenager, holding his tongue was a mission in and of itself. He thought that he had worked on it enough that he could tackle any foe, and still keep his cool. Evidently, he was wrong. Accepting that he’s partly to blame is one thing, but that cold bastard didn’t have to punch him in the fucking nose. Actions speak louder than words, sure. That’s something that Ichigo champions on a daily basis. Not when it comes to fist fights, however. He’s been in many in his time. Started them, finished them. So, he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on when it comes to doing the right thing in those situations. Nevertheless, those occurrences had all been when he was still growing up. To his understanding, they’re both adults, and they should have been able to work things out in a more calm, mature manner–at least that’s what would have made more sense in his head.

As Ichigo continues down the long walkway, keeping his bloody nose hidden beneath his shirt, he wonders what his next move should be. Nel probably would still work with him after this, considering she came to his aide even before asking what happened between them. She clearly understands that it wasn’t him that instigated the whole ordeal. Ichigo just can’t envision himself being comfortable being there after that. He wants to help Nel–there’s not a chance that he can do his job properly where her Brother is concerned, though, and that wouldn’t be fair to her. If anything, that’s a good enough reason for him to move on from this. Nel will be better off without him now that his credibility has been tarnished. Even if she doesn’t understand that right away, she would if Grimmjow appeared at one of their sessions together. Ichigo trusts that he’ll become unfocused, and he’ll make mistakes that he wouldn’t dream of doing on a non-blue-haired-asshole day.

_This is for the best._

Just as he’s about to reach the closed gates, Ichigo realises that he’s not going to be able to get out without one of the siblings actually permitting him to leave. He curses to himself, ignoring the childish desire to stomp his feet and rage at the blameless sky. Maybe if he waits long enough, Nel will take pity on him and just let him out without any more delay, as it’s imperative that he has his nose checked out as soon as possible. Growing up with a Father as a Doctor has its perks, after all. He would set it himself if his pain receptors wouldn’t discourage him greatly.

A car revving behind him prompts Ichigo to look over his shoulder.

Midnight blue eyes stare back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hands up if you thought it was going to be Grimmjow that got punched. :P
> 
> \--Kieran


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I won't always be able to get out chapters this quickly, so please don't be discouraged if they start to slow down at any point. Writing a story is a long, and sometimes stressful process, so please be patient. ^^ 
> 
> Without further ado, I hope you enjoy the latest installment. 
> 
> \--Kieran

Ichigo immediately straightens his head, keeping his eyes locked on the gates to his freedom like a lifeline, ignoring the sound of a car door opening behind him. If this guy wants to fight with him, then he’ll get exactly that. He’ll see that Ichigo is no pushover. Countless adversaries have underestimated him because of his appearance, and they all ate their words. There’s no reason to believe that this will be any different.

A gentle chill enters through the gap in his black shirt, raising the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck. Footsteps sound from behind him, and Ichigo’s not sure what his best move would be here. Does he sucker punch the guy in the face before he can finish what he started? For some reason, the idea of Grimmjow being so easily caught off guard doesn’t sit well with him. That strike to his nose was clean and precise. This guy knows how to fight. That much is clear, so he’ll have to plan carefully if this turns into another altercation between the two of them.

“Turn around,” a rough voice demands flatly, a hint of mint breeching his senses. When he remains stubbornly facing forward, the owner of the voice lets out a pissed off sigh, quick hands spinning him sharply, and before he can even react, his shirt is yanked out of his grip, exposing his deformed nose. He’s about a second away from really letting the guy have it, when miraculously, his nose is being set in to place, a momentary white-hot agony shooting through him. He fixes Grimmjow with a hard stare, anger evident on his features, despite the fact that this lunatic just literally fixed what he broke in the first place. Now that he’s had a second to breathe, Ichigo intends to start verbally/physically tearing the shit out of the man, when he’s once again cut short by a wet-wipe being offered to him by an outstretched hand. “Clean yourself up.”

Without a word, Ichigo takes it, narrowing his eyes with unbridled distrust. He attends to his nose, cleaning off the blood without a mirror to guide him. Ichigo goes to stuff it in his pocket when he’s done with his task, but a “tsk” from Grimmjow halts him, and he’s caught off guard when it’s taken from him and shoved into a small plastic bag. The prankster in him would ask if he was planning to use that to grow his own personal Ichigo Kurosaki, but this isn’t the time or place for that.

“Is this your way of saying sorry?” he asks instead, avoiding eye contact.

Grimmjow sniffs at that, cleaning Ichigo’s blood off his hands with a separate wet-wipe, which he disposes of the same way.

“Now you don’t have to pay to get it fixed. We good?”

Ichigo swallows down an incredulous laugh.

“My Dad is a Doctor. I wouldn’t have had to pay,” he informs him, wishing that he brought a spare shirt with him. He may have been able to clean the blood off his face, but that’s not going to stop his shirt from crusting and irritating his skin, due to the drying blood.

One broad shoulder shrugs lamely at that. “Hindsight is a beautiful thing. Regardless of that, I saved you the trip,” Grimmjow retorts, looking for all the world like he really doesn’t give a shit.

“Are you not here of your own free will?” Ichigo questions, not sure if he’s teasing or not.

Grimmjow closes his eyes in quiet frustration. “Nel said that she won’t do this with anyone else.”

Ichigo can’t help but feel honoured by that. He’d really like to help Nel, too, but there’s no guarantee that them hashing things out here is going to be the end of it.

With a response on the tip of his tongue, Ichigo opens his mouth to relay it, when it’s snapped shut by the sound of Nel screaming his name and running down the walkway as fast as her legs will carry her, waving her arms in the air like one of those inflated mascots sales companies use. A part of him wants to laugh at the spectacle because it’s humorous–the other part is willing him to just make a run for it, climb over the gate if he has to, risk breaking his legs–just get away _now._ Grimmjow doesn’t seem fazed by it at all, eyes not leaving Ichigo’s distressed face, gauging every minute move he makes. They’re so predatory that he feels like a canary in a cage–a cage that’s been left _unlocked._

“ICHIGOOOOOO!” Nel hollers, huffing raggedly. “WAIIIIIIIIIIIT!”

Ichigo stands stock still as Nel passes Grimmjow in a flurry, misjudging the space between the two men completely. She crashes into the younger man, tackling them both to the ground beneath them. Ichigo feels pain explode at the back of his head, registering the weight lying half on top of him.

“Nel–uh,” Ichigo begins helplessly, trying to shield his eyes from the harsh sunlight beaming down at him smugly, as if punishing him for allowing himself to end up in a position like this.

Nel is as quick as she can be to move off of him, scritching her fingers through her long, wavy green hair, laughing nervously. “I’m sorry, Ichigo! I didn’t mean to tackle you like that. Haha. I’m so silly,” she rambles, blushing shamefully.

_These two couldn’t be any more different if they tried._

Now that the adrenaline has worn off, Ichigo gives Nel a few beats to catch her breath, waiting until she flicks a few strands of hair out of her face and smiles like she’s fine now. He takes the time to quickly check over his belongings, ensuring that nothing is broken. It wouldn’t do him any good to be without a laptop right now. Not to mention, all of his notes are typed out on there, and he has zero copies of any of them.

“Did Grimmy apologise?” Nel asks hopefully, glancing at her Brother for a brief moment.

Ichigo sighs, “In a way.”

Nel frowns thoughtfully at that, clearly taking note of Ichigo’s no longer bleeding nose, and linking it to the see-through bag of used wet-wipes hanging from Grimmjow’s clenched fist. She looks torn between whether or not that’s enough for the orange-haired man sitting in front of her.

“ _Grimmjow,. . ._ you’re _supposed_ to use your words,” she grumbles, turning to glare at him. “You punched him in the face. That’s not a nice thing to do.”

Pointing out the obvious doesn’t seem to discourage the man in the hot seat. He rolls his eyes like this is just a huge pain in the ass, which provokes his Sister to close the gap between them and press her pointer finger into his chest a few times, accentuating it with a repetition of the word “sorry”, as if saying it enough will help him to understand the importance of it in this situation.

“I saved him a trip and set his nose for him,” Grimmjow defends dryly, unperturbed by her actions. “If anything, he should be thanking me. I didn’t have to do that.”

“You _broke_ it in the first place!” she snaps, huffing out a breath. “Just please say you’re sorry, Grimmy. . .” Nel almost begs, and Ichigo feels a tug at his heartstrings when it looks like she’s about to start crying right here in the middle of the walkway.

“Are you really going to cry, Nelly?” Grimmjow feings curiosity, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We both know that you’re tougher than that.”

Nel spins away from him, crossing her arms over her chest petulantly.

“I thought if I cried, you would give in and say sorry,” she declares proudly, keeping her back to him. “Clearly, you don’t care enough about _me_ or _my_ future to do that.”

Ichigo winces internally at that. He would hate to hear something so wrong from one of his Sister’s. Even though Grimmjow clearly keeps up a hard-ass disposition–lie or not, that has to get to him in some way. To his credit, though, the man remains immaculately unfazed, stepping around her to stand in front of the younger man, obviously displeased with this development.

“Sorry,” he says curtly, not waiting for a reply. He’s quick to stride off to his car, getting in and slamming the door behind him, beeping the horn at Nel in quick succession, growing more impatient by the second.

Nel ignores him, beaming at Ichigo. She reaches for him and pulls him up into a standing position, brushing off the dirt she can find, continuing to act as if the alarming sound in the background doesn’t exist.

“SO, YOU’LL COME BACK NEXT WEEK, RIGHT?!” she yells over the unceasing, ear-splitting car horn, bringing her hands up to cover her ears when it all becomes too much. “WAIT A MINUTE, GRIMMY!”

Not really sure what to do here, Ichigo just gives her a thumbs up, slapping on a smile for good measure. He feels like his ears are about to explode, and he’d really like that sound to stop as soon as possible.

“GREAT! AWESOME! SEE YOU NEXT WEEK!” Nel rushes out, giving him a quick hug before dashing to the other side of the car, yelling at Grimmjow to knock it off, as she wrenches the passenger-side door open.

Ichigo watches for a few seconds as Nel grabs for the man’s hand, trying to pry it off the button. Her efforts go unrewarded, and she starts pouting at him. Those dark blue eyes seem to stare through him, sending a pulse of something–far too inappropriate right now for Ichigo to comprehend–straight down south. He decides then and there that this is his cue to leave, and he gestures at the gate lamely.

They start to open as if that was the magic action. Ichigo doesn’t question it at this moment, quickly turning on his heel and walking as fast as he can off the rest of the premises, turning the corner to his freedom as soon as he’s able.

_I should still probably get Dad to check this._

* * *

 

Nel makes a point of making a clattering sound when she sets Grimmjow’s dinner out in front of him. Although he apologised to her new friend, he didn’t mean any of it. She doesn’t really understand how it got to that. Her Brother told her that Ichigo said something that he didn’t agree with, so he punched him. Which, knowing Grimmjow, actually made a lot of sense. Still, that’s normally when it comes to Nel’s boyfriends or something, because he doesn’t think that anyone is ever going to be good enough for his Sister, which she finds rather adorable. Nevertheless, Ichigo is going to help her actually start doing something with her life, and her Brother must understand that attacking him really isn’t doing her any favours.

“I’m mad at you,” Nel informs him, miffed that he can just pick up his knife and fork like her displeasure means nothing at all to him.

“I can tell,” Grimmjow mutters before taking a bite of his food. “Thanks for the grub.”

“You’re welcome. Why don’t you tell me exactly what he said to make you punch him?”

Grimmjow disregards table manners as he explains what happened, unsure if he has it word for word, but reasoning that the general gist of it is enough. He goes on to say, “Something about him bothered me. I don’t know what it was, so don’t ask,” ending the conversation there and then, making it clear that he would like to finish the rest of his dinner in silence.

Nel gives him that, choosing to start eating her own as well. She’s not that hungry. Altercations such as those have always taken away her appetite, and she struggles to get it back when the dust has cleared. Her thoughts on the matter are that Ichigo was starting to get angry by whatever Grimmjow was saying, and that childish side we all have took over in that moment. She doesn’t believe that Ichigo meant what he said. Anyone that knows them knows that they would do anything for each other. They have that kind of bond, and it really doesn’t take a genius to figure that out after spending even five seconds with the two of them. Ichigo is most certainly smarter than that, so she’s sure that he picked up on how close she is to her Brother.

Having said that, she owes it to Grimmjow to thank him for defending her in his own way, even if it should never have come to blows. And, truthfully, she should make it clear to Ichigo as well that she knows in her heart that Grimmjow will always support her in whatever it is that she wants to do. With any luck, she can say so in a way that won’t leave her without a tutor. She shares an internal laugh with herself, fiddling with the pork squares on her plate periodically.

“Thank you for defending me,” she says several minutes later, when Grimmjow sets his utensils on top of his plate, and wipes his lips with the napkin provided.

“I was and I wasn’t. He implied that I would stand in your way, and that pissed me off, sure. But it also pissed me off when he made out like my fucking pride was more important than your happiness. So, yeah. I was and I wasn’t.”

“Still, I appreciate it, is all I’m saying,” Nel adds, feeling warmed by the admission. “Just talk it out next time, okay? No more hitting my new friends, please?”

Pretending to take a moment to think about it, Grimmjow smirks over at her. “Sure, why not. I guess I can let you have at least one friend.”

“That’s all I can ask for,” she agrees, poking her tongue out playfully.

* * *

 

After he got to his car, Ichigo did end up stopping by his Dad’s clinic to have his nose checked out, just to be safe. His Dad said that it was a clean set, and that he’s impressed by whoever did it. Ichigo wasn’t sure what to say to that. He just about narrowly avoided explaining how it happened in the first place. Sometimes his Dad doesn’t know when to let things go, so he got off extremely lucky in that instance. Yuzu and Karin had their questions, too, but Ichigo deflected them by asking about school and the like–anything to keep the spotlight off him.

Now that he’s all cleaned up, he decided to get a drink with Renji and Rukia to celebrate his first client. Fortunately, Rukia didn’t have to work today, so she can actually afford to hang out with them for longer than five minutes. She even promised that if she got a call, that she would ignore her phone. Her Brother has some ties to the news station she works for, so she’s confident that she won’t get fired for it.

It’s not long before they’re pushing him for details, wanting to know everything that happened, since he tip-toed over the fact that he ended up with a broken nose. He regrets telling them all together, when he really just wants to forget about the whole ordeal, drink his drink and move on from it. His friends have a way of getting to the bottom of things, though, and he knows that, unlike his family, they’re not going to drop it until he spills all the details.

His _first time_ all over again.

“I don’t know what to tell you. Her Brother was a huge asshole. I got angry, we exchanged some words, and he punched me in the nose,” Ichigo explains, not bothering to act it out verbatim.

Rukia covers a laugh with her dainty hand.

“Why did he punch you, Ichigo? You must have said something to upset him. Unless he’s deranged?”

Ichigo scowls.

“It doesn’t matter. It happened. It’s over now. Can we just move on?”

On the other side of the table, Renji gives him a look like there’s no way he’s getting off that easy.

“Why didn’t you get him back for it?”

“That wouldn’t be professional,” he lies, glaring into his drink.

Rukia’s eyes widen at that, clinking her glass against his to get his attention. “You’re really growing up, huh?” she teases him, her lips pulling up in a half-smirk.

“Or he’s just becoming a pussy,” Renji supplies unhelpfully, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Admit it, Ichi–I bet this guy was a walking wet dream and you didn’t have the guts to ruin a face like that.”

Ichigo nearly choaks on his drink, regretting taking that moment to quench his thirst. He pins Renji with a threatening glare, striking his foot out underneath the table. Renji yelps, tapping his hands down on the table vigorously to distract himself from the fleeting pain. Once it wears off, he offers a glare of his own, daring Ichigo to do that again. Ichigo feels sorely tempted to do so, but he drops it for now.

“Was he?” Rukia pipes up, clearly amused by the exchange. “Your face did go red when Renji said that.”

Seeing to a non-existent itch on the side of his neck, Ichigo turns his head to the side, looking away from them. He feels the heat creeping into his skin again just thinking about the man’s flawless features. Those eyes, those hands, those _lips–_ everything about the man was perfection itself, and Ichigo hates how much a guy like that would completely have him at their will. Blue hair shouldn’t work on anyone, but it does on him. Teal tattoos underneath eyes shouldn’t work on _anyone,_ but they sure as shit work on Grimmjow. All of these things that just shouldn’t fit in to place, come together so effortlessly for that man that it’s sinful.

“He was okay.”

All three of them know he’s lying through his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Until the next time! Thank you for reading. ;D. . . 
> 
> P.S: Even though this is an AU, I love Grimmjow's teal tattoos, so I worked them into it. You're welcome. 
> 
> \--Kieran


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just to clear things up, this story is new. When I said it's surreal writing this after such a long time, I meant for the fandom/the pairing. I last wrote a GrimmIchi--before this one, when I was 18 or 19. I'm 23 now, so. . . Figure it out. :D. . . 
> 
> Regardless, please enjoy. ^^ 
> 
> P.S: Thank you for the feedback. :)

_Present day. . ._

The door to Ichigo’s private hospital room opening does nothing to get a reaction out of Grimmjow. His ears, although out of practice, having already picked up the pattern of footsteps, know without needing to look that it’s his Sister, seeming a tad hesitant to approach the bed. He understands why. It was hard for him when he first walked in the room, too. The first time he glanced at Ichigo’s unconscious form, all sense of denial left him, as his fears were laid out in front of his face. No amount of pinching himself would wake him from his assumed horrific nightmare, so all he could do at that point was accept the reality of the situation. Even if he would have been much happier remaining blissfully unaware of that truth, there’s nothing he can do about that now.

“How’s he doing?” Nel asks softly, placing one of her hands on his adjacent shoulder. She gently smoothes over it with care and affection, giving him room to shrug her off if he feels the need to. “The Nurses told me that you haven’t left this room. Good thing they have a bathroom in here or I’d be worried.”

Grimmjow appreciates her trying to break the ice. Everyone else has tip-toed around him, not sure how to even approach the man in a situation such as this. He can’t say that he blames them. When he loses control, there are very few people in this world that can bring him back down to Earth again, and they’re both currently in the room with him. Only one of them is awake to take on that role, though.

“No movement,” he muffles into Ichigo’s assisted rising chest, not willing to lift his head up.

Nel makes a sound at that, pulling up a chair to set herself next to the bed with him. She reaches for the hand holding Ichigo’s, laying hers flat over the top of them. It makes sense. Ever since Ichigo entered their lives, the two of them have been the best of friends, and he knows that she’s putting on the bravest face that she can for him right now, when she’s really just as broken up about it as he is.

“He’ll wake up, Grimmy. I have no doubt. Our Ichi is a fighter,” she declares, acting as sure of herself as she can be, squeezing the both of them. “All we have to do is make sure that we’re here for him when he does.”

Grimmjow sniffs, squeezing harder. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping _Habitats for Humanity_ or some shit like that?”

The eye roll from his sister is so deep he can almost hear it.

“I volunteered for them for a year, yes, and it was an amazing experience. But, no, I was putting together the final plans for a clients house just minutes before I got the call. I dropped everything and got on the soonest plane that I could.”

“You know he wouldn’t want you to fuss,” Grimmjow says, attempting a cocky smirk, but there’s no real heat to it.

Nel rests her head down to make eye-contact with him, their noses merely inches apart. “Then why are you here when you have a big art project due in the next three days?” she teases, poking him in the arm with her finger. “It’s for the same reason that I’m here. My job means nothing when someone I care about is hurt.”

Silence falls over the room after that. Nel rubs his arm slowly, trying to soothe as little or as much of the ache that she can. Grimmjow can tell that she’s at a loss for what to do here, as his Sister has never had the displeasure of seeing him in a state like this. Truthfully, he never imagined that he could ever be this broken by anything. But, here he is, unable to comprehend anything past Ichigo waking up any minute now. That’s all he’s focused on. That’s all he can think about. And as soon as he wakes up, Grimmjow’s not sure if the first thing he’s going to do is chew the idiot out, or kiss him until his lips are raw from use.

“He’ll wake up soon, Grimmy. You know that, right?”

Not wanting to jinx it, Grimmjow says absolutely nothing.

* * *

 

_One week after they first met. . ._

It’s the start of their first session together, and Ichigo is already losing his mind. Every opportunity that Nel can find to apologise for her Brother, she’s taken. Without missing a beat, she’ll throw in some reason that relates to their past as to why her Brother can act that way, that he’s not normally like that with the friends that she’s managed to actually keep over the years. Ichigo has expressed to her that he just wants to move past it and start her studies, but it’s almost as if she doesn’t hear a word he says, throwing out justification after justification, like she won’t rest until he’s Grimmjow’s number one fan or something. To say he’s miffed would be too kind a word. He has nothing against Nel at all, and she’s clearly one of the sweetest souls on the planet, but this session is not about her Brother. She doesn’t owe him anything, and he really would rather not be constantly reminded about the events of the week before.

The dreams are enough of a reminder, thank you very much.

“Nel, I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” Ichigo cuts her off mid-apology, holding a hand up for good measure, “I’ve moved on. Now, can we please start your studies?”

Nel blinks sheepishly at him, ducking her head. She looks like someone just told her good ole’ _Jolly St Nick_ doesn’t exist, and Ichigo finds himself feeling like _The Grinch_ that stole Christmas. _How_ Grimmjow manages to stay so nonchalant is a pure mystery to him. Yuzu and Karin have their ways of getting what they want, but he’s never had to deal with a side like this before. _Siblings_ and their _goddamned ways_ of getting their way. Ichigo would like to think that he doesn’t do the same at home, and would never if the opportunity presented itself.

“What do you want me to do?” he caves, instantly regretting it when her head lifts enthusiastically, and her eyes sparkle like the fourth of July. “I’m not sure I’m going to like what I’m about to sign up for. . .”

Nel grins almost compassionately, placing both her hands on his shoulders.

“Grimmy will be here in around three hours. Please stay and have dinner with us so that we can work this all out together?”

Ichigo casts his eyes to the side, not wanting to keep up the eye-contact. This is something that he had been hoping to avoid when he got up the nerve to come here today. With each step he made through the walkway, he had been constantly keeping an eye out for a car, or a certain man with a head of shocking blue hair, or a face in the window watching him with that predatory look that he can’t seem to get out of his head, no matter how many times he imagines various methods of inducing memory loss, threatening his limbic system.

He had the sense of mind to not disclose any of his _dreams_ to his friends, knowing that it would only bring him more grief. Luckily, they’ve been busy the past week, and haven’t had the chance to even guestimate what’s been going through his head lately. Ichigo is certain that if one of them–Renji, in particular–happened to catch even a whiff of the _not safe for work_ fantasies streaming through his mind while he sleeps at night, he would never hear the end of it. He did his best to ignore how attractive Grimmjow is, locking himself in a dark corner of the world labeled _denial,_ so that he doesn’t have to deal with the harsh reality that the man who could quite easily infuriate him beyond all measure, could also readily take the top spot of men that Ichigo would be more than willing to sleep with.

Shaking his head to clear the current haze, Ichigo brings his gaze back to Nel. A voice tells him that he should definitely decline, make up some excuse about being busy tonight, or maybe having another client to go and see. He doesn’t want to start this journey of theirs lying, though, so he’s lost for what to do. Unless something falls into his lap, literally giving him a legitimate reason to turn her down, he’s stuck. If only Renji would choose now to croak. That would be good. Ichigo scoffs internally, feeling the slightest bit guilty for thinking that, even if it would be convenient.

When he realises that he’s said nothing for a full three minutes, Ichigo finally sighs like he truly doesn’t want to do this. This is Nel’s _last_ chance to have mercy on him, but he gets the impression that that’s not going to happen in this lifetime or the next. She’s just staring at him, waiting as patiently as she can for him to agree to her proposal, trusting hazel eyes eagerly anticipating his response. Hopefully, this won’t be the death of him.

“Okay,” he clips out, looking away from her, “But if he punches me again–”

“He won’t, I promise,” Nel assures him, bouncing with excitement, “Once you get to know him, he’s actually a really nice guy.”

Ichigo stops himself from verablising his disapproval at that statement. Nel is only trying to help, for some reason. There’s really no _reason_ for himself to become buddy-buddy with the blue-haired asshole, so she needn’t bother with all of this. As long as he’s not going to physically assault him every time they’re in the same room with each other, he can learn to deal with being in the same house as him. They just have to have boundaries, or whatever.

Now that _that’s_ out of the way, Ichigo and Nel _finally_ get down to some studying. Over the week, Ichigo did as much research as he could to find out what sort of requirements Nel would need to even be gifted an interview by an interior design company, and they ranged based on the popularity of the company itself, which hadn’t been shocking, considering how common that practice is. Ichigo noted down which subjects she would really need to be scoring above average on, what courses she would undertake once she has the grades to do so, and he also developed a timeline for how long this whole process might take, varying from the speed in which Nel is able to progress. He plans to keep track of all of this as each session continues, narrowing down the timeline to the best of his ability. Once he feels that she is ready to take her exams, he will set all of that up for her, and support her all the way to her degree.

Ichigo tries to keep his teaching methods as clear and precise as he can, without unloading too much at a time. Understandably, considering Nel’s prior experience with the subjects that he’s tutoring her in, patience is going to be the key to success on both of their parts. To her credit, however, she appears to be picking it up rather quickly, to Ichigo’s great pride and pleasure. The material that he’s opted to begin with isn’t so basic that it would put someone to sleep. It’s also not _too_ advanced that three minutes are required for each question.

Ichigo points out to Nel midway through a question that she has a penchant for poking to tip of her tongue out when she comes across a problem that _actually_ requires a tad more thought, giving her the appearance of an adorable four year old attempting to understand how popcorn is created. She can’t help but blush at the thought of it, visibly putting all of her efforts into negating the embarrassing pose, and failing spectacularly. For the sake of her face getting redder and redder, Ichigo pretends that she’s got it under control.

Coming to the end of their tutoring session, Ichigo takes note of Nel starting to decline in her attention to detail. He suspected something like this would be a reoccurring issue for his clients, as they’re not used to studying for long periods, _or_ short periods of time. They never really had the chance to accustom themselves to a regular learning environment, therefore lacking the drive to go even more than an hour hitting the books. That’s going to be something that they’ll work towards in their time together. Ichigo doesn’t plan to make her overdo it by any means necessary, as that wouldn’t aide her in the slightest, only override her brain before she has a chance to utilise it.

“Last problem, and then you’re done for the day, Nel. Remember the formula, okay? You’ve got this,” Ichigo champions her encouragingly, that pride in her from earlier granting a warm feeling in his stomach. He had his ideas that this line of work, although challenging, would give him the job satisfaction that he’s been craving, and that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from experiencing all of this unabashed pride for his clients. Watching them make that first step towards getting that education that they missed out on, and really working for it, fills him with such a sense that he’s chosen the right path in life, that it validates all he’s done leading up to this moment. He can’t wait to watch his clients bloom before his eyes, and achieve what they never thought they would be able to without the proper education to do so.

Nel sighs with relief when she finishes the final problem, grinning up at Ichigo excitedly, resting her pen down on top of the paper. She stretches her arms over her head, playing with the curls of her hair as she brings them back to her sides, clearly a little exhausted after all that _really_ having to think.

“How do you feel?” Ichigo asks, already pretty confident of the answer.

“A little wiped,” Nel admits, rubbing her eyes, “I’m sorry if I took so long.”

“You didn’t. You did great, really,” he assures her, accepting the hug that she gives him. When she pulls away, she asks if he would like a drink that she will actually get for him this time without delay. Ichigo laughs at that, standing briefly to stretch his legs, “That would be great, thank you.”

Nel nods, motioning with her hand for him to follow. She starts dragging him with her when he takes more than a few seconds to start moving of his own accord, telling him that study time is over and they get to hang out now. Ichigo feigns disappointment, rewarding him with a comment about being a huge dork from the woman. Although he had been reluctant to be _friend’s_ with his first client, he’s envisioning a future where they’re still close even after all of this is over, so he banters with her for a bit as she makes him a drink. She tells him about why she has no friends, since he’s _clearly_ been _dying_ to ask from the moment he found out. To be clear, he hadn’t–he’s too respectful a person to dabble in someone else’s personal business. So, beyond curiosity, he never gave it much thought. Nel seems like she wants to tell him, though, so he allows her to, over coffee.

“Grimmjow scares off your friends a lot,” Ichigo comments several minutes later when Nel finishes detailing events that have ended with her _friends_ refusing to ever see her again if _he’s_ going to be there, “Why don’t you just not introduce him if he’s what scares them away?” he queries, doing his absolute damndest not to sound like an ass about the whole thing.

Nel lowers her head at that, focusing on a spot on the ground, “Because me and Grimmjow are a package deal. If you don’t like one of us, you can’t have either of us,” she explains, not the least bit hesitant. A small uncomfortable silence falls between them, neither of them sure how to break it. It’s obviously a touchy subject, and Ichigo can’t help but admire Nel for remaining so loyal after all of these years. She’s probably the only person that keeps Grimmjow from attacking random people on the streets or something. Ichigo internally snorts at his own theory, imagining Nel _somehow_ managing to pull an adrenaline-fueled blue-haired asshole off of some unsuspecting fool. Somehow that just seems very _unlikely_ to him.

Nel does eventually say something a few minutes later, asking if Ichigo will help her with dinner. He checks his watch for the time, giving her a look that says it’s far too early to start cooking. She just shrugs, telling him that she wants this dinner to be perfect. Not sure how _well_ that’s going to turn out for her, Ichigo decides not to comment on it for now, assisting her in setting up the prep. It’s not until halfway through that he realises that he’s practically cooking dinner for that arrogant jerk who’s supposed to be here in about forty-five minutes. Well, he could always add some extra _touches_ to Grimmjow’s plate, if the first thing that comes out of his gor–stupid mouth is an insult. Ichigo already expressed that he’s not planning to take that sitting down anymore, and he more than intends on not making a liar of himself on that front.

As they work towards preparing dinner, Nel and Ichigo talk about everything and nothing. Ichigo tells her stories of his adventures with his friends, leaving out the parts that could possibly make her feel worse about her situation. She laughs at some of the shit that they’ve gotten up to over the years, stating that she thinks she would definitely fit in with them somewhere. Ichigo has no doubt about that–it’s her Brother that he’s concerned about. If it’s both of them or nothing, then Ichigo will seriously have to give it some crucial thought before ever allowing them to meet his friends. From the word go, he’s positive that Renji will do _something_ to get under Grimmjow’s skin, as that’s a habit of the redhead, which Ichigo will be left to sort out, with the help of Nel, obviously. They’ll both be handlers in that situation– _neither_ of them getting paid enough for a huge pain-in-the-ass like _that_ scenario.

As they continue to get to know each other better, the time for Grimmjow’s supposed arrival quickly approaches. They’ve got everything prepared for dinner. Nel set the table a few minutes ago while Ichigo added the finishing touches to the meal–just a few spices here and there. And yes, he checked to see if that asshole had any allergies that he should know about. He’s not sure if he was happy or sad when Nel informed him that Grimmjow wasn’t allergic to anything. There goes his death-by-poison plan, then. _What a shame._ Shrugging off his sudden homicidal tendencies, Ichigo starts plating up, stepping out of the way when Nel leans past him to grab something from one of the cupboards, complimenting the aroma of the dish as she heads back out to the table, looking for all the world like she needed to pee twelve hours ago. Clearly, she’s more anxious about this than she originally let on.

As soon as he hears a door opening from what must be the porch, Ichigo tenses. There’s no chance for him to duck out of this now. Grimmjow is _in_ the house. No turning back now that he’s already agreed to it, and it’s not like he has the powers of invisibility to get out of this one unscathed. Ichigo sighs and shakes his head to clear it, pushing himself off the kitchen island to move towards the table. It’s not like he has to go out there and welcome the guy home or something. Nel is already seeing to that, and it’s not like he would if she didn’t, anyway. There’s a noise of displeasure from the other room, and Ichigo believes that the blue-haired maniac hadn’t been warned about Nel’s scheme before he left the house this morning, if the curse that follows is anything to go by. To his credit, he tries not to tune in on what’s going, but can’t seem to help himself.

“I’ll eat in my study, Nel. I _don’t_ have time for this,” Grimmjow says, sounding thoroughly annoyed by the situation that he’s walked in to, unprepared.

“It’s _just_ dinner, Grimmy. All you have to do is sit there and eat, maybe talk a little. It’s not _that_ hard,” Nel retorts, and Ichigo can imagine her pouting at him like she did in the car, “Besides, Ichigo agreed to it. You owe it to him after breaking his nose.”

“I fixed it, didn’t I?” Grimmjow shoots back, his tone riddled with impatience, “I’m sure he’d be out that door if he _really_ had a choice in the fucking matter.”

“Come on, I really like this guy. He’s so nice and he’s really helping me with my studies, and–”

“Marry him, then,” Grimmjow spits, apparently ready for this to be over, “You have my blessing if that’s what you _fucking_ want. Geez, Nel–Just–”

“Summer of twenty-ten, Grimmy.”

There’s a silence that falls over the siblings, squabble on hold while they work out between them _whatever_ that date means. It must have some kind of string attached to it, as Ichigo’s sure he detects Grimmjow sighing in a way that wonders if Nel is really going to go _there_.

“We’re _even_ after this,” he growls, and something clatters to the ground, “Go sit with your _boyfriend._ I need to get changed.”

Nel slinks back in to the room, looking torn between whether or not she made the right decision to use _that._

“Well, he’ll be down soon, so. . . Drink?”

Ichigo’s not one of those people that has to have a drink every day of the week. Sure, it might just be two or three, but he would like to think that he’s not so dependent that he would need to experience the buzz of alcohol at some point during the day just to get by in life. The last time he had a drink at dinner, he was with a friend, there to support them after the funeral of one of their family members. They didn’t want a party, just a drink with dinner, as that’s something the deceased in question would partake in on a daily basis. The point is, he doesn’t drink at dinner.

“Got anything stronger than coffee?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: What do you think is going to happen at dinner? ;D


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three sit down for dinner, and Ichigo makes a mistake he's not sure he regrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to stress again that I can't fire these out one after the other. For those of you that are willing to be patient and enjoy the ride, you have my thanks. :) 
> 
> Anyone that can't, I don't hold it against you. :x
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the latest instalment. 
> 
> \--Kieran

Enraged, Grimmjow presses one hand against the ceramic-tiled wall,  thus allowing the heated spray from the shower to flow over his rigid, vexed form. Apparently, it’s not enough putting in extra hours to ensure this deal goes through, additionally securing time for himself to wrap up his latest work — eventually, he has to deal with this unnecessary tea party with the man currently sitting in his kitchen. Truthfully, Grimmjow doesn’t understand why it’s imperative to Nel that they get along, on account of they’ve met each other all of two times, notwithstanding that the orange-haired brat’s duties are to guide her studies, certainly not to start making a home here. Sometimes, people just don’t respect other people, which serves as the way of the world. Why Nel can’t seem to comprehend that baffles him.    
  
Historically, this isn’t the first occasion where she’s utilised her influences, thereby attempting to involve him with her friends. Unequivocally, he doesn’t care if they don’t like him, given that he doesn’t overtly acknowledge their existences; consequently,  assuming they treat Nel with the utmost esteem, there's no issue, which is Grimmjow's initial interaction with them. Sure, he could presumably introduce himself first — as a normal person would — however, they wouldn’t respect that it’s in their best interest to take it just as seriously as using their lungs to breathe.   
  
Cast judgement, for he’s assuredly heard them all by now, given what they’ve gone through together… Realistically, it’s not surprising how protective he is over her, considering Grimmjow had only recently turned eleven when his and Nel’s parents unfortunately perished in a homicide. Nel, herself, only six years old at the time, no less than five years separating them. Moreover, he resigned himself to acting as more than Big Brother from that point onwards, figuratively her everything or nothing. Honestly, he could never have chosen the nothing alternative, regardless of whether he had been by one means or another ready to witness the greater part of the shit that he would experience raising the two of them without any assistance.    
  
In hindsight, a plethora of those events shaped him, hence, despite knowing a way to exclude some of the more traumatising dealings during that time, Grimmjow wouldn’t opt to take it. Undoubtedly, those experiences bestowed him vast strength, essential speed, astounding charm where appropriate, respectable cunning — all skills he would need to cope with the world. Conclusively, without those trying times, he wouldn’t be the man that he sees in the mirror every day, and subsequently, would possess none of his current fortune. Yet, this sizeable house is materialistic, for he doesn’t need something so flashy to solidify his mark on the world — he knows that he’s a sponsored competitor in this game that we all call life. Nel, on the other hand, had this optimistic dream of a beautiful home, a breathtaking view from anywhere in the house, additionally including a garden that she could spend the majority of her days in, freely soaking in the ambience.   
  
Fair to say, the two of them have partaken in both sides of the coin, considering they’ve been flat broke, unable to afford a piece of fruit from the market, and they’re now flourishing, effectively ensured that anything they could ever want is practically a swipe of a card away. What's more, it still feels so surreal to Grimmjow, considering if he didn’t wake up every day in a king-size bed, with satin blue sheets, accented with the top of the line pillows — memory foam and all — he would be inclined to believe that it had all been a dream, a possibility that from day one, his first painting hadn’t been the key to kickstarting a better life for the two of them.    
  
_ That damn painting _ ….

Understandably, it took a long time for Grimmjow to agree to sell it, notwithstanding, he didn’t necessarily feel overly attached to it, barring the depictions… Nevertheless, for the longest time, he just wasn’t ready to show the world that side of himself. In retrospect, Grimmjow’s not one of those that gets embarrassed when he’s caught in the nude, since he’ll happily stand there, sans clothes, without even batting an eyelash. On the other hand, the painting held something different — it displays his innermost fears, and they’re carefully etched into each section of the portrait, layered satirically underneath artless designs. Beforehand, they were private to him, for his eyes only, therefore agreeing to expose himself to the masses was one of the most difficult things that he’s ever done.    
  
Realistically, only those with a true eye for detail will be able to identify the intrinsic nuances littered throughout the piece, which afforded Grimmjow a small comfort for the first few occasions that he stood in the audience whilst onlookers, ranging from casual to adept, analyzed his very existence, almost. At first, that kind of exposure left a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, for his art is something that he truly cares about.

Standing there, being silently judged isn't something that he's ever going to grow accustomed to, despite commonly having Nel by his side.

With a heavy sigh, Grimmjow shuts off the water, begrudgingly grabbing a towel off the rack to start drying himself with. Once he's deemed himself fit to move to his bedroom, Grimmjow ties the towel around his waist, capturing the sound of the drainer swallowing the last few droplets before abandoning the room, silenced by the click of the door. Now inside his room, Grimmjow hurries to change, for the sooner this evening is over with, the sooner he can focus on what he actually planned to do, and this is what he repeats to himself all the way back to the kitchen, narrowly avoiding any eye contact upon entry, likewise immediately taking his seat at the table, his restless hands prepared to start tucking in with gusto.

Nel, apparently, isn't about to let that happen.

"Now that we're all here, why don't we talk about what happened last week?"

Remarkably, Grimmjow does his best not to convey his displeasure with that, understanding that this is just his sister's way. Ichigo, on the other hand, seems to be having trouble, succeeding in irking Grimmjow somewhat that this stranger has the nerve to make such a face in his presence — in his kitchen — for this form of response to him is unprecedented.

Credit where it's due, the orange-haired brat has guts.

"There's nothing to talk about. I said some things. He said some things. I hit him. He bled. I fixed his nose — all is good in the world," Grimmjow states simply, reaching for the salt.

Nel denies him access to it by quickly moving it out of his reach.

"He's going to be coming here a lot, Grimmy," Nel replies matter-of-factly, setting the salt next to Ichigo, who ignores it. "How do you feel about it, Ichigo?"

The man in question takes a sip of his drink, which appears to be alcoholic in nature, provoking a subtle eyebrow arch from Grimmjow, who finds it oddly amusing that Ichigo would need liquor just to get through this.

"What he said," Ichigo mutters, frisking the side of his neck. "As long as he doesn't punch me every time we meet, I'm good."

"So kicking you is fine?" Grimmjow replies snarkily, smirking.

Nel cuts in before Ichigo can fashion a response, making it abundantly clear that no physical altercations are permitted. "Don't mind him, Ichigo. My brother thinks he's hilarious," she assures him with a wave of her hand.

"I am hilarious. You just have no taste," Grimmjow returns cleverly, leaning over the table to grab the salt again, during which his eyes catch a visible shiver come over his unwelcome table guest, inherently sparking some curiosity. Although there's no telling if the action was prompted by the closeness, the slight creeping of red hues over the tips of Ichigo's ears may suggest so, which is admittedly intriguing. Testing the waters, he lingers just enough to make the man uncomfortable before backtracking to his seat, salt finally in his grasp.

As he grinds the transparent granules onto his plate of pasta, with various meats and vegetables coupled with a mix of cohesive spices, Grimmjow catches himself observing Ichigo more thoroughly than he has before. For a ginger brat, he's not half bad looking; if they were both drunk in a club somewhere, Grimmjow would probably have sex with him. That attitude of his is a problem though, which is why he would have to gag him. Regardless,  he wouldn't be able to deal with the drama that would potentially follow.

All three welcome the silence that ensues as they begin eating their food, passing the necessary condiments around the table when needed, non-verbally agreeing to each other's requests. Grimmjow falls short in comprehending the severity of what took place the week before, amplifying the disconnected atmosphere, which serves to seemingly highly aggravate his sister. Consequently, there's a certain tension in the air that begs for a resolution, however, lacks the essential components required for such a feat.

When the screechy scraping of forks against plates overdoes its assault on Nel's ears, she apparently reassesses her approach, appealing to the softer side of Grimmjow — known exclusively to her — expressing her anxieties towards the possibility that his actions may inhibit her future progress, particularly if Ichigo were to quit. This results in a moment of pause and reflection, as Grimmjow certainly doesn't want Nel to give up her ambitions. Having said that, he's not convinced that his antipathy towards Ichigo should prevent her from achieving those goals. Nevertheless, continuing to leave her in suspense will only serve to augment her misgivings related to his past behaviours surrounding similar incidents.

“I won’t hit you again if you don’t say or do anything to provoke me,” Grimmjow proposes bluntly, thumbing a speck of food off the side of his lip, “I’m not going to let a stranger speak to me that way, and I don’t care what you think of that, Nel. This is my house, my rules, and I have every right to throw him out on his ass if he pisses me off,” he further adds, pushing his chair back from the table, briefly pausing for a moment to wring his hands on the tablecloth, “Now, if we’re done here, I’m going to my studio. No distractions,” he says, leaving no room for argument.

* * *

 

The moment Grimmjow’s entire form is out of plain sight, Ichigo visibly relaxes, going so far as to release a pent-up breath filled with his anxieties. When it all boils down to it, Ichigo would have no objections to facing Grimmjow in a fight, considering the amount of opponents he wrangled with in his teens, who would have been the  _ clear  _ winner in the eyes of onlookers. While he would definitely stand by this, he’s not so prideful, when it comes to himself, at least, to admit that he’s not entirely confident that he would be the victor in that event.

Coming to terms with a simple deduction like this has an adverse effect on Ichigo, given the struggles he’s had to endure thanks to his hair colour. Additionally, his tempestuous attitude growing up in his community granted him zero favours, consequently subjecting him to countless brawls that could have gone either way on each occasion. These trials that he begrudgingly faced almost day after day refined his survival skills, and gifted him with the courage to take on any foe, regardless of their size or standing, which greatly increased his confidence going into fights to come. The short version, Ichigo has never once been so uncertain about his chances in a head-to-head since he left his teen years behind him. 

Even with the knowledge that Grimmjow no long occupies the same space, Ichigo’s stomach refuses to settle, therefore cementing his guard, irrevocably prepared to fend off anyone that chooses this moment to launch an assault. Undeniably, the man’s aura is a dominant force in the house, which appears to hold true despite him having vacated the room. 

In lieu of Ichigo’s greatest efforts to concentrate on the continuous flow of sentences swarming his ears, an invisible forcefield prevents them from reaching their objective. Right now, he’s far too immersed in his own unexpected insecurity to pay Nel the proper mind. The part of him that remains the slightest bit aware of his surroundings prompts him to feel bad that he’s allowing his own silent war to interfere with Nel’s time with her  _ only  _ friend, effectively wrenching him from his thoughts just as she comes to the end of her story about a possible run-in with a rat. 

“I didn’t want to kill it, but Grimmy didn’t have the patience to be humane about it, so… Yeah, that’s probably not doing him any favours, but if you think of it another way--like how he’s kind of like my hero for, you know, killing the rat…. But then since it wasn’t trying to hurt me-- _ You get my point, _ though, right?” 

Ichigo’s not sure how many times Nel played with her hair, fingers, neck, nose and clothes all in that one,  _ long,  _ sentence, however, he’s convinced that it was certainly one too many. 

“Nel, we’ve been over this,” Ichigo reminds her with a sigh. “You don’t need to keep trying to, I don’t know, build him up? I’m not here for your Brother.” 

Surprisingly, a few seconds manage to tick by before Nel fashions a response. Slowly, her head lowers, effectively hiding her face with long, green wisps of hair, creating a spectacle that felt _ wrong _ to Ichigo. From his point of view, Nel looked defeated and used up in this moment, which was doing its level best to fill Ichigo with a sensation of guilt. 

“I just really hope that you two can get along someday… I thought telling you stories about us might convince you to be more open to the idea,” Nel admits wholesomely, rising from her chair so that she can pour them another drink. 

Ichigo understands what she’s trying to do, for it’s a very common thing to do when certain people  _ have  _ to at least co-exist for the sake of another. He appreciates this, however, it’s far too early for her to be taking this approach. They’ve known each other all of two weeks at this point, so there’s no telling what might be in the cards for this particular trio. 

While Nel pours their next drink, Ichigo explains this to her in a way that she will resonate with, and he’s more than pleased when she nods like it all makes sense, proceeding to clink her glass against his own, promising that she’ll increase her efforts when the time is right. The statement gets a laugh out of both of them, silenced by the rim of their respective glasses resting against their bottom lips as they tip the liquid into their mouths, swallowing it down.

Their conversation flows seamlessly from one to the next, each contributing equally to all exchanges passed back, undoubtedly solidifying the apparent development of their friendship. Likewise, the reality that after such a brief amount of time in each other’s existences has already established this effortless to and fro, speaks to the undeniable chemistry they hold as friends. Which, by extension, fills them both with a great sense of comfort that it will only grow stronger with time. 

“So… What about you, Ichigo? I feel like we’ve mostly talked about me here,” Nel prompts, smiling encouragingly. 

Ichigo frowns thoughtfully at that, mutely acquiescing to her observation. From his vantage point, his life isn’t all that enthralling, so he often prefers to keep the spotlight on anyone other than himself, where possible.

Nevertheless, he supposes clearing up the mystery for her somewhat can’t hurt, and so Ichigo precedes to regale her with some of the more interesting trials and tribulations of his life, even going so far as to include that one time he dressed up as his Mother in an attempt to cheer up his Father, who had been missing her dearly at the time. Secretly, Ichigo had crept downstairs in the middle of the night during a cold November, plonking himself in front of the huge portrait of his Mother, situated in the centre of their living room. Accompanied by a small collection of makeup that Masaki Kurosaki had left behind her in her wake, Ichigo had tried his best to imitate what he saw in front of him, feeling marginally pleased with himself when he had finished. 

“The next morning, my old man came down for his morning coffee, and nearly came face-first with the floor,” Ichigo continues, lost in the nostalgia as he recalls the iconic look Isshin Kurosaki had displayed at that moment, “When he finally recovered and asked me what I was doing, I told him that he said I looked like Mum, and I wanted to make him happy.” 

Nel grins broadly at that, catching a soundless tear with her finger. “That’s adorable, Ichigo.” 

“It was the  _ only  _ time I ever dressed up as a girl, though, I swear,” Ichigo adds rapidly, letting his head flop over the back of the chair. 

“Well, I’m sure you made a beautiful little girl,” she comments, finding the visual equal parts sweet and sad. 

Ichigo laughs heartily at that, assisted by the alcohol in his system. “I looked like a clown, but it made my Dad laugh, so I was happy with that,” he admits freely, righting himself. 

“That’s all that matters then,” Nel agrees, finishing the rest of her drink. 

“Yeah… Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” 

Ichigo apologises for being so formal at Nel’s somewhat insulted expression, noting her directions in his head before leaving the kitchen to deal with his current need. History would suggest that he has a credible control over his bladder, however, it’s better to be safe than sorry where alcohol is involved. 

In his rush to reach his desired destination, Ichigo takes a wrong turn, landing himself in what looks to be a studio… Realisation quickly dawns on him, as an unmistakably adult male form comes in to view, currently naked from the waist up. Had Grimmjow’s quiet intentions been to leave him at a loss for words, he thoroughly succeeded, as Ichigo freezes in place, berating himself for every moment he spends admiring the picturesque design of Grimmjow’s back. He understands that he  _ should  _ turn around immediately, figure out where he went wrong, and go from there, but there’s this unseeable force imprisoning him in the space he momentarily inhabits.

Just beyond Grimmjow’s broad, expertly crafted shoulders rests an easel, supporting a generously sized canvas, illustrating that same hauntingly beautiful theme that attracted Ichigo’s eyes from the word go. There’s just something so mesmerising about the brush strokes…  How they range from light shades to dark shades, giving life to the melancholy of the evident homeless man, as these people pass him by like he means nothing. That he’s not even worth their regard--that he doesn’t even  _ exist _ … The intricate way in which Grimmjow has managed to capture the morality of the conscious mind, and how social standing can dictate particular societal classes perception of homeless people, is stunning in its subtlety. 

Ichigo’s at a loss for words.

Grimmjow, conversely, isn’t. 

“The nearest bathroom is right behind you,” he says sternly, shoulders suddenly tense and guarded, “ _ Don’t  _ repeat this mistake.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think Ichigo will do? :x I mean, he is a little drunk...


End file.
